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Invasion of the Most Sacred

Xlibris

U.S. White House, District of Columbia April 2, 2017

"I can't believe you're actually considering this."

"Mr. President, you know my position. You gave me the Joint Chief's, you gave me the entire cabinet, the FBI, Homeland, the CIA and NSA and ... you know who." Chester paused to throw a baked potato chip in his mouth from the half full bag he held in his hand. "You've got to let me do my job." Continuing very calm and dismissive.

"Do you know what you're proposing?" Donald stood from behind his desk, trying to appear like a man who had a backbone. For someone in Donald's position, The Commander in Chief, being completely subordinate to one person was a hard task. He barely even knew this guy.

But for some reason he had an all-access pass to, well, anywhere. The White House, Langley, any military installation, and had a beat on him in every turn. This guy knew about everything before he did, and he hated it. He also hated the fact the this man acted as if giving him control over all these government entities was a choice. He already had them! Let you do your job? I don't even know what your job is! I don't even know who you are!

"Donald!" President Donald Astor froze. Chester's voice effortlessly filling the Oval Office. "I'm not proposing anything." Calm again, another chip. "It's already done. When those Muslim hijackers from Saudi came over here and killed thousands of innocent Americans. Women, and children." Chester cleared his throat and took a breath. "Or when our ISIS bastards got out of control a few years ago. It was done. I know you weren't in office. I know you had no part in the underhanded activities that came from this very room, which played a part in that-"

"Right." President Astor looked away.

"And I'm also sorry that I can't fucking share it with you, Don. The fact is, this is the solution." Chester Rothschild walked over to the President and put his hand on his shoulder. "Don. We're not trying to play GOD. We don't even want to control their lives. But we do need to get control of this problem though, or these guys are going to just continue to run around any country they want blowing people up to prove a point that they don't even understand!"

Do we dislike Islamic culture? Do we think all Muslim's are terrorist? Of course not! That's the dumbest thing anyone could ever think at this point. Do I think all Middle Eastern countries hate Americans? No! I know for a fact they don't! We want them to be able to live and be free without being bullied or pressured into any style of life. They'll now be free to be whoever they wish to be. "Chester threw the bag of chips in the trash and swiped his hands together a few times before pointing at the president." As long as it's not a terrorist. In order to know that, and enforce that ... we must do this.

"God." President Astor released a long sigh, while rubbing his forehead.

"It's going to be a long and ugly road, Don. But we have to take it. Now make the order. We'll be boots-on-ground; Bagram moving forward on Monday after I leave Kabul on Sunday giving the details in- person. The next time you'll hear from me is the following Monday. I will be off the grid until then."

"I'm looking over these papers." Donald picked up a folder from his desk. "The black budget has been bled dry with this plan of yours."

"Don't worry about the black budget, Donald. That will be taken care of. It's the least of your worries.

"Don't worry about the black budget? I'm the president of a nation who has been in some sort of military operation for more than 21 years straight now! How can I not worry about the black budget?"

"Don't worry about the black budget, Don," Chester repeated.

Alright, Sir." Donald replied after a long pause and stare. "I hope you know what you're doing." President Astor returned, pretending as if he was giving Chester his permission.

"Don't worry, sir. I do. It's why I'm here."

"I trust you." Donald sighed.

"I should hope so, I wouldn't have put you here if you didn't." And there it was. Along with a condescending pat to the shoulder. "See you later, Mr. President." Chester turned and walked off leaving the President looking down at the American flag on his desk. "Give Marie and the kids my best."

Mashaad, Iran

"I can not believe I will be seeing you tomorrow, 'Zita!"

"'Insh'Allah."

"Of course, Insh'Allah."

"I am so bored here. I hate leaving the house alone." Azita said anxiously, rushing back down the stairs on her cordless phone. "Celebrating Nowruz has been more tiring than anything this year. By the 13 day, I was actually hoping for a war!" Azita joked while using her spare hand to pick up some things around the living room, which was nearly void of any furniture. Just remnants of a messy dinner.

"You are so funny. New Years always was crazy there. And like a good little girl, you would usually just stay at home ... khouneh tekouni!" Yasmeen laughed.

"Yes, very funny. Make jokes on me because I like to keep our home clean. I did not have to spend half as much time on it as others because I make sure to clean regularly unlike you." Yasmeen laughed. "And this is better than sitting around and eating aush all day, Yazzy."

"Oh," Yasmeen sighed. "How I miss your mothers aush. I can not wait to get there!" Yasmeen sounded like a little girl instead of a fully-grown college graduate. "When I get to Mashhad we will have fun like we always did. Nothing will bother us. Not even your crazy brother!" Yasmeen laughed now twirling the telephone receiver chord with her pointer finger. Her Hijab draped over her shoulder.

"Ahmad, avizoon!" Azita paused while Yasmeen laughed again. "If your father will give you the money, please have him hire a hotel room for your entire stay here!"

"Do you think we are rich, Azita?"

"Yasmeen ... everyone knows you are rich." Their phone conversation continued, mostly in English as always. For practice. They tried to never speak Farsi unless necessary or the English word just didn't seem right.

"Yes of course. How could I forget?" Both girls laughed. "You know, I make my own money. I do not like-"

"Yes, yes ... I know you do not like taking money from Baba so just take it and give it to me. I have no problems with this!"

"Okay, okay. No problem. Hotel it is. This will be the best time."

"Yes, it will be. I have missed you so much, Yazzy." Azita sighed.

"I have missed you, too."

"I hate it here."

"I know you do, Azita."

"Is there no wonder why your entire family moved to Adana? Azita returned."

"Hmm, let me think ... because no one in this country has ever heard of bio-energy before we arrived?" Yasmeen joked.

"Do not be a jerk, Yasmeen! You all moved because they did not want their only daughter to grow up with the attitude of a servant! Be treated like a dog in public and worse at home!"

"I know, I know."

"To be mistreated and utilized only for procreation and religious protocol!"

"Not all Persian men are like this, 'Zita."

"Is true. But, enough are that it is accepted. And that is unacceptable." Azita stood in the kitchen speaking so sternly into the phone she held it with an intense grip.

"You sound just like my mother," Yasmeen said softly, looking out of the window now.

"I take this as a compliment." Azita paused, and settled down some. "Why have you never invited me to come to Adana? To live with you in that side-house, big enough for my entire family?"

"Are you serious? Zita I would have you here anytime if I knew your entire family would not fall to pieces without you! You are always welcome!" Yasmeen's voice suddenly desperate. "You believe me, right?"

"Of course. So, it is settled. I will be coming back to Turkiye with you at the end of summer."

"What about Ahmad and habibti?" Yasmeen asked.

"Ahmad does not need me around. He is about to take on a wife soon and Anaheed is seventeen. She is a woman now."

"According to your parents she has been a woman for about eight years." Yasmeen laughed.

"Ha. Very funny." There was a pause. Azita, now sitting on the floor flicking at a few pieces of rice her mother had dropped at dinner. "What do you think?"

"About you coming here, to Adana? To live?"

"No, what do you think about the American Yankee's baseball team? Of course! What are we talking about, Yazzy!"

"Of course! You can come home with me! I do not care, you never have to ask! I love you, 'Zita!"

"I love you too. Thank you."

"Do not thank me. I am sorry I never noticed you wanted to leave so badly. I have been gone for so long ... I did not know home was that bad."

"Yes Yasmeen. Home is very, very bad."

"We must get to work on your passport right away."

"I have the paperwork filled out."

"So you have been planning this?" Yasmeen smiled.

"Well, I was praying it would be with you. But some way, I was going to leave Iran. This I have had planned, yes," Azita replied seriously then smiled. "I must go now. I must prepare for your arrival. And I have something important to tell you when you get here." Azita stood to walk back to the phone receiver.

"Just tell me now!"

"No, tomorrow. Safar be kheir"

"Always so suspenseful. khoda hafez."

Bagram, Afghanistan

"I swear to Christ, I don't frikkin' get it!" Sergeant John Baker looked away from a cracked fiberglass hood of a Mine Resistant- Ambush Poof vehicle and faced his troops who tried to remain busy, avoiding eye contact. "The next time I have to bring another one of these M-ATVs to GlobalTech because you guys decided to run into something on the FOB, I'm goin' to lose my shit!" Sergeant Baker didn't form up his soldiers when he was chewing ass. He did it while working, while eating, or whenever the ass-chewing came to mind or was necessary. "Do you guys need bumpers on these things?"

"No Sergeant." They corralled now. Picking their feet up high when they walked to avoid some of the damp areas of muddy sand.

"How about fucking training wheels?" Sergeant Baker continued while walking to the rear of a neighboring Maxxpro.

"No Sergeant!" They all stood looking at him now. A little pissed at themselves.

"Use your fucking ground-guides! That's why they're there!" Sergeant Baker threw two boxes of food and gear in the back.

"Got it Sergeant," Specialist Wilkins replied while donning her Kevlar.

"Roger that," Private First Class Rockford responded while snapping his IBA.

"Now who the fuck was driving?" Sergeant Baker stopped loading MRE's into the truck.

"It was me, Sergeant Baker," Specialist Wilkins replied.

"Wilkins ..." Sergeant Baker sighed. "Gather up CAC cards and go grab everyone breakfast from the DFAC. I want a fresh- egg omelet with everything, two biscuits and bring back some of those Otis Spunkmeyer muffins."

"Roger that." Wilkins sighed as well in acceptance. "What kind of muffins?"

"I don't give a shit. Go."

Sergeant Baker tried to keep rapport with his soldiers light, personal, and mission-driven. He didn't want them looking at him as an untouchable, unapproachable God-like figure who couldn't be questioned or even called by his first name. He knew they knew when to put their hooah-hooah hats on.

"Mr. Rothschild, we've verified the flight plan and we're ready to push back." Dave, the Captain of the Dassault Falcon 9X reported to Chester through the open window of the black 2017 Range Rover HSE which was parked outside on the flight line.

"Very good, let's hit it." Chester took another sip from his bottle of green tea and stepped out.

He gave a head nod to Dave who stood with his hands behind his back, smiling. The planes Captain then pulled the steps in after Chester boarded and secured the door.

Saying Chester came from money is like saying the Samsung Galaxy S7 was just a cell phone. Chester Rothschild came from what people like to call old money. His family's type of old money was the type which led to them not being known by most. They lived on acreage that'd make most farms look small. Each family member had estates in several countries. None of them had to work. Ever. But the ones who chose to ended up being highly appointed officials or dignitary's of some sort. Positions which were by no means impossible to attain by hard work, but it was never required of a Rothschild. Chester was a little different. He followed the format laid down by his parents for the most part. They were a bit disappointed he chose Harvard over Princeton. His family felt the need to be a part of only the best when it came to things like that. After finding out that his parents pretty much weren't going to fight him on his decisions he went for the coup de grace and said he was joining the military. Has father didn't speak to him for months.

His family moved out to one of their homes in Stamford, Connecticut, as a final pull toward Princeton before Chester's senior year of high school. Mr. Rothschild wanted to be close enough to Massachusetts just in case Chester didn't listen, but still not too far from Jersey if he decided to sway in the right direction. But he didn't want him too close to home either. That particular home anyway.

Chester loved the waterfront mansion. It was a modest home for their type. Thirteen thousand, four hundred and thirty two square feet. Only three acres and six bathrooms. The home was originally built in 1925 overlooking the coves and bays off the Long Island Sound. Chester would spend days sitting on their 175-foot pier with his jeans rolled up looking off into the water. Waiting for the right moment to jump right in and enjoy his favorite past time.

The move was a good idea. Chester, of course, still chose Harvard and went on to graduate with decent grades. It was a feat, because unlike his predecessors he did it all on his own with no assistance - the kind of assistance only large amounts of money and power could attain.

He was a popular person in the school. Everyone was well off for the most part, but Chester did subtle things to let everyone know they weren't on his level of wealth. Whether it be driving in one of his father's classic roadsters one week, and then a new Ferrari or Aston Martin in the next, bringing famous models as dates to keggers and small frat parties, it just wasn't in his nature to stay below the radar.

When he entered the Coast Guard, it was different. For reasons unknown, he entered as a Lieutenant Junior Grade instead of a regular Ensign. Whether it was done out of favor no one ever seemed to know. However what everyone did know is that Senior Chief Petty Officer Boykins, who was in charge of the recruiting department which recruited young Rothschild was beaten within inches of his life the day Chester shipped out to Cape May.

Out there, Chester was changed.

The camaraderie Chester became accustomed to was like nothing he'd ever experienced. Chester's servants were the closest things he had to friends growing up. People knew of the power he and his family had over everyone they dealt with. This kept true friendship at bay for Chester and his siblings. Out of his entire family, he was the only one concerned about a lack of true friendship.

There was no question about how the first duty station he landed was New Haven. He had a pleasurable forty-five minute drive from his modest accommodation in Stamford, free of his parents and siblings who thought the home was too small for them all. Chester being somewhat of an outcast loved the idea of having the house all to himself.

Chester spent eight years in the Coast Guard based out of New Haven, starting as an entry level cryptologist. Being that he was in intelligence he was of course privy to confidential, top secret and otherwise classified information. He pulled a short six months aboard a cutter called the USCGC Waesche and had seen some action during a year in command of a special RAID inspection team in Afghanistan. It was then he became floated into the hush- hush side of the governments business. Slowly the camaraderie and patriotism he'd learned to embrace was tested by the contents of a few conexes and the way those contents were treated.

"Sir!"

Chester snapped out of his gaze. Sitting comfortably in his favorite seat. One of eight in the custom interior. The near-empty bottle of green tea sat at his feet.

"Yeah, Dave?"

"Are you alright? I saw you'd dropped your beverage, is everything okay, sir?"

"Yeah ... everything is okay. Why didn't you just pick it up?"

"Yes sir, of course." Dave knelt to retrieve the spilled bottle. "Would you like another?"

"No Dave. Thank you."

"Very good sir." Dave turned.

"Uh, Dave!"

"Yes sir." Dave stood turning, but hunched a bit as to not hit his head on the cabin's ceiling.

"Sorry for snapping at you. Thanks for waking me."

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Excerpted from Invasion of the Most Sacred by Robert Lovelle Rooks. Copyright © 2016 Robert Lovelle Rooks. Excerpted by permission of Xlibris.
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